Trouble No More
by Designation
Summary: After learning that his friend Barry was essentially adopted in his place, Face finds himself a little lost and needs some kind of grounding connection.
1. Statesboro Blues

Written for a prompt over at A-Team prompts requesting some post-Beneath the Surface h/c. Also, featuring a little bit of the fantastic Allman Brothers.

* * *

_I woke up this mornin', I had them Statesboro blues  
I woke up this mornin', I had them Statesboro blues_

Still high from the rush of the concert, Templeton Peck strolled into his small, sparsely decorated room, tossed his keys on the dresser, and flopped onto his bed. "Man," he said, "Those Allman Brothers are sure somethin' else!"

His grin widened at the silence in the room. "Seriously, I coulda stayed there forever – front row seats, _superb_ view of the stage . . ."

Still no reply. He raised onto his side, looking up with a mischievous gleam in his eyes. "Jenny didn't seem to mind it too much either . . ."

His roommate Barry chuckled from where he stood, rummaging in the top drawer of his dresser. "That's great man, glad it was a good time."

Templeton laughed knowingly at his friend. _Sure buddy,_ he thought, _and what did you do, stuck here all day?_ He wasn't intentionally mean to the guy, but he'd never have been conned out of _his_ tickets – Barry was a good pal, sure, but he was so damned easy sometimes.

Barry lifted an armload of clothes from his dresser drawer and tossed it on his bed, where a half full duffel bag rested. He lifted out the last of the drawer's contents, then turned to the bed and shoved everything into the bag.

"What're you doing?" Templeton asked, leaning up on an elbow to watch, curious.

"Packing." Barry grabbed a book off his night stand (Treasure Island, Rand McNally, 1916) and tossed it in on top of the clothes. Grinning.

Templeton sat up, brows furrowed. "I can see that, buddy, but where are you going?"

There was a knock at the door. Barry crammed down the contents of his duffel. "I'm shipping out today, Temp, remember?"

"Shipping out?"

Barry shook his head as if amused, zipped up the bag. "Yeah, shipping out."

A knock sounded again, the doorknob jiggled, and a slightly muffled voice drifted through the door, "You ready kid?"

"Is that–" Templeton glanced at the closed door, then back to his friend. "What's going on?"

The door opened. Barry laughed again. "That was our deal, remember?" he asked. "You got the tickets, went to the concert with your girl. I got to be you for a couple of hours." He stood, threw his bag over his shoulder, walked over to meet Hannibal at the door.

All the air left Templeton's lungs, and he couldn't call it back. Barry turned to him for a moment, speaking again before he left. "The team really liked me. They decided to take me in – I'll tell them the truth later."

He stepped out.

The door slammed shut.

Face woke up, gasping.


	2. One Way Out

_Ain't but one way out baby,  
and Lord I just can't go out the door  
'Cause there's a man down there . . ._

It was a week after the shipwreck job, and the four of them had had a merry afternoon of running from a spitting-mad General Fulbright. Face was pretty sure he was still pissed about the whole driving-off-the-docks thing; really, the guy needed to loosen up a little.

Despite the fact that the jazz was always the best kind of rush, by the time they'd gotten away and drove for hours from the scene, the team was all a little bushed. They, or Hannibal, decided that it was easiest to stay all in one place for the night, and so Face had let them into someone else's convenient summer home to crash.

Hannibal was the first one to wake the next day, as was usually the case unless Murdock was having one of his rooster mornings. Thus, when Face stumbled down the stairs at the ungodly hour of 6:43AM, the coffee was already on.

"Morning, kid," Hannibal greeted. He sat at the kitchen table with a newspaper, sounding entirely too cheery.

"Mmm," Face grunted back, rummaging through the cupboards. Where the hell did they keep the damn mugs in this place?

"Top right corner," Hannibal supplied. Great – he was awake, cheery, and full-on mindreading before Face could even form sentences. "They've got a nice medium roast left here," Hannibal told him, "Except it's starting to go a bit stale."

Hannibal could be a bit of a pretentious coffee drinker sometimes; give Face gas station swill and he was happy, as long as it was caffeinated. Face located a giant mug and poured himself a cup, then sat to the table and hunched over it. He was immaculately groomed and dressed in a spare button down shirt and jacket that he kept in the van, but he hadn't slept well and he needed his coffee.

"Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed today," Hannibal commented, with the same tone he might have used to discuss a dull newspaper headline – if the paper in his hands wasn't a month-old one that he'd found half under the couch.

Face grunted, and took a swig of coffee. His hand shook when he lifted it, and he hoped Hannibal wasn't looking.

"Something the matter, kid?"

Of course, when you can read minds, you don't really have to look at people.

"Nah," Face replied, "Just couldn't sleep, that's all."

There was a rustling of paper, and Hannibal eyed him for a moment. Face drank more coffee, fighting the irrational urge to avoid sudden movement.

"Okay," Hannibal accepted. "Shall we go grab breakfast?"


	3. Sweet Melissa

_Freight train, each car looks the same, all the same  
And no one knows the Gypsy's name_

BA didn't see Face around the youth centre very often; he got the idea that being around the kids made Face uncomfortable.

He didn't think that it was because some of the less fortunate kids reminded Face of himself, or that they reminded him of what little he used to have. Face didn't keep much by way of personal belongings, or close friends beyond the team, but those days he could get pretty much anything with a smile, and wanted for very little.

That was just it, really. Face could be whoever he wanted; never had to be his past self at all. The kids that BA helped at this centre didn't have that skill, and if he had his way they wouldn't ever need it. He always encouraged them to be the best people that they could and to be happy with who they were. He thought that was what made Face uncomfortable: that they were so different from him, solid where he was mercurial.

So when BA saw Face across the street from the centre – standing with his shoulders hunched and his hands in his pockets, watching him – he was surprised.

BA was just outside the centre doors, tugging the wrinkles out of his jacket after breaking up a fight between two angry kids. One had lashed out at the other, for no reason other than his own pent up anger, and BA had hauled them apart. Then he'd leaned down to each, looked him in the eye, and talked them down before sending them in for a bite to eat. He had looked up afterward, heart a bit heavy, and then he'd seen Face.

His first thought was to wonder what Face was there to scheme today.

His second was that something was wrong.

BA waited for a car to pass between them, then crossed the street to his friend. "What you done now?" he asked. BA Baracus was nothing if not direct.

Face laughed, the abrupt and honest kind of laugh that you give when you're really not expecting anything to be funny. "Nothing, man, I swear!" He held up his hands for a moment in mock surrender. "Just passing through the area, thought I'd say hi."

BA snorted. "Man, you never 'just pass through' nowhere! You always on your way to a scheme or a date."

"Guilty," Face grinned, but there was something odd in his expression, and he changed the subject. "What was that all about?" he asked, gesturing vaguely toward the centre.

BA turned and looked back for a moment. "Kids being kids," he said, "They ain't fightin' for anything real, they just fightin.'"

Face nodded. "And you set them straight?" He folded his arms across his chest, could probably pretend to have been warding himself against the unseasonable cold of the grey LA afternoon.

BA shifted his stance, partially blocking Face's view of the centre, trying to make eye contact but failing when Face turned his gaze to the ground. He was being quiet, seemed a little down – totally unlike how Face usually acted.

BA nodded, but Face didn't see it. "Yeah," BA confirmed. "I set 'em straight." After a beat of silence, he asked, "What's wrong, Faceman?"

Face shook his head, seeming a bit far away from himself. His answer came out in a whisper.

"Where were you when I was that age?"

And then, as if realizing that he'd let too much out, he snapped his mouth shut. "I – never mind, I mean I–"

"Hey," BA interrupted. But then he didn't know what to say. He'd never had to comfort Face before, at least not when he wasn't bleeding. Instead, he put his hand on Face's shoulder, hoping the weight would ground him a little. Face when completely rigid at the contact.

"Hey," BA repeated, and Face relaxed minutely, but still wouldn't look at him. "I'm here now."

Face nodded slightly, took a deep breath, and nodded again. "Yeah, okay." He took a step away and rolled his shoulders a little when BA let him go. "Well, I'm gonna–" He cleared his throat. "I've got a, uh," he laughed a little, "I've got a scheme or a date to get to."

"Okay," BA replied. As Face turned and walked away, he added, "You know where I'll be."


	4. Ramblin' Man

_. . . and when it's time for leavin'  
I hope you'll understand  
That I was born a ramblin' man_

It was time to bust Murdock out of the VA again.

Face was really laying it on thick today – sometimes it was fun to play with the nurses, so every now and then he'd come up with the most ridiculous scam he could think of and flirt more than even _he_ could stand, just to see if they'd go for it.

Today, Murdock was the key to uncovering a secret spy organization. He and Face each knew half of a secret code which would allow Them (another spy organization, complete with air quotes) to get into a vault (in an undisclosed location) which contained information about the plots of a very well known political figure to bring about the ultimate destruction of . . . honestly, he forgot his own story almost immediately. But that was okay, since after he gave some details, he blushed to the girl at the desk (Sandy) about having said too much (because her beauty caught him off guard) and she was puddy in his hands.

He didn't even have to produce a fake badge – he was starting to think that the nurses might be humouring him.

When Sandy let him into Murdock's room, Face was unsurprised to find him standing in front of a mirror with his hair slicked back, adjusting his spy-suave tie over a burnt-orange t-shirt. When Murdock turned around, his hands fidgeted over his belly nervously, and he appeared to be sweating.

"Oh finally," he gasped, "You're here! Are we going to go find the docume– . . ." He trailed off, as if just noticing Sandy hovering outside the doorway. "The uh, the things?"

Ah, perfect. He was already in character. Face was a little curious as to how Murdock had figured out the scam already. "Yes, Mr. Murdock," Face confirmed, rolling with it. "If you'd step right this way please?" He waved toward the door.

Murdock nodded resolutely and smoothed down the front of his t-shirt, which declared him to be a "Natural Jenius." He marched past Face and out the door, barely avoiding running into Sandy as she stepped back.

He stopped walking abruptly, and turned toward Face and Sandy. His nervous expression disappeared, to be replace suddenly by his trademark manic grin. "Oh, by the way, have you met Sandy here?" he asked Face.

He grabbed a hand from each of them and made them shake. "She likes soft music by candelight, long walks by the beach, and that same fancy red wine you like so much."

Sandy gaped like a fish. Face, to his credit, managed not to be too surprised by Murdock and replied, "Why yes, we've met. She's quite lovely, isn't she?" He winked at Sandy.

"Oh, absolutely!" Murdock said, continuing to shake their hands for them. "You two could really hit it off!"

It was surprisingly easy to walk out of the hospital after that – on top of having bought Face's story for whatever reason, Sandy seemed quite content to scurry from Face's sight in embarrassment. She was quite a bit cuter when she was embarrassed than when she was surprised, he thought, remembering her earlier fish-look.

Still, when they slid into Face's corvette, he was seeking an explanation. "What was with the set-up, hey Murdock?" He didn't really need Murdock to arrange his dates for him.

Murdock's reply was unexpectedly serious, and unabashedly honest. "You've seemed a little lonely lately, that's all. Don't want you to feel lonely, Facey."

Face stopped a second longer than necessary before he pulled from the VA parking lot onto the street. He glanced over at his friend. "What do you mean, Murdock? I'm never lonely."

"Sure you are," Murdock replied. "Ever since that thing with Barry. You've just seemed a bit off, that's all."

Face considered that for a moment.

"Why would I be lonely?" he asked, then smiled. "I've got you guys, don't I?"

**End.**

* * *

_T-shirt line borrowed from one of the results of a 30-second Google search for something to the effect of, "funny t-shirt lines".  
_


End file.
